


Press You to the Pages of My Heart

by ambitiousbutrubbish



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, and Patroclus is worryingly cool with it, he doesn't kill anyone in this but he does get into a Fight, hey remember how Achilles fights in wars and murders people and stuff?, just like gross love stuff, pop culture references that show the author's age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitiousbutrubbish/pseuds/ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: Achilles and Patroclus arethatcouple. The absolutely,stupidlyin love kind.





	Press You to the Pages of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly there is legit like no plot here, it's just about Achilles and Patroclus being in love.
> 
> Also it has nothing to do with The Song of Achilles I've never even read it. Sorry.

Patroclus has always been fairly tall. As a kid and even a young teen he had spent a lot of time with grazed knees and palms from just being a little too gangly and uncoordinated for his own good. After one particular growth spurt he had walked around with a rather impressive egg on his forehead from colliding with a crossbeam that was a little lower than he remembered it being. 

Now that he’s older it mostly just means that he can reach high things, although he still can’t quite reach the jar of honey that his friends have placed on the top shelf in the kitchenette nearest to the rooms where they study at the university. They’re clearly trying to hide it from Achilles, because he has a habit of eating directly out of the jar. Privately Patroclus agrees with them that it’s kind of gross that Achilles is double dipping in community property, but in reality every one of them knows that if Achilles wants something, Patroclus will help him get it. Particularly Achilles. Which is presumably why their friends bothered Ajax to get him to put the jar on the one shelf that Patroclus can’t quite reach, and Achilles definitely can’t. 

There’s a small group of people he doesn’t know sitting at the table behind him, chatting to themselves and not making a move to help him or to get off one of the chairs so he can use it as a step. Patroclus doesn’t know if it’s because someone clued them in to the honey situation, or if they’re just really rude. He’s about to give up and lift himself up on the bench - which is unhygienic on a whole other level - when he hears an “I got it” from behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see Achilles appear in the doorway.

Everyone at the table stops their conversation and stares at Achilles, which Patroclus has long ago accepted as just inevitable whenever he walks into a room. For his part Achilles pays them no mind and instead he is very clearly sizing Patroclus up. Even if he wasn’t so obvious, Patroclus would still know what he was about to do, and he braces himself just before Achilles starts his run. There’s about a second, and then Achilles’ hands slap down on his shoulders and he launches himself up, legs wrapping themselves around Patroclus’ waist and giving himself just that little bit of extra height so he can grab the jar. 

They pause there for a moment and Patroclus braces himself on the counter. Achilles isn’t tall, but he is surprisingly heavy, almost entirely muscle. He holds himself in his position with just his legs, one hand in Patroclus' hair and the other holding the honey. Someone behind them laughs, and Achilles’ legs tighten. “I will not be laughed at” he says with a sniff, and Patroclus just about chokes on his own silent giggles. “Let’s go, Patroclus.”

Patroclus does as he’s told, pushes off the bench and tucks his hands securely under Achilles’ thighs to make sure he is firmly in place before spinning around and marching out the door. Achilles slouches down a little to drape his own arms over Patroclus' shoulders, the honey jar still loosely held in his hand. 

When they’re down the hall and around a couple of corners and definitely out of sight, Patroclus stops and loosens his grip a little so Achilles can slide down his back and onto the ground. Instead, Achilles snuggles in closer against his back. “I like this.” He says, and Patroclus rearranges his grip in anticipation for being in for the long haul here. “You carrying me around like a big, strong manly man.”

Patroclus snorts even as he feels his face go bright red. He hopes Achilles doesn’t notice, but judging by the way Achilles pokes at the back of his neck, his blush clearly doesn’t end at his face. Achiilles puts his arms back down around his neck and then leans forward so he can press his nose and lips to the top of his head. Patroclus carries him all the way back to their house and the grin on his face doesn’t dim once. 

********************

When they were in high school, Achilles was always the star; the strongest, the fastest, the captain of the track team and the martial arts team and the wrestling team and pretty much anything that he tried out for. Patroclus was never the second best, but in games where the captains got to pick their own teams, he was always the first chosen. 

Patroclus is older, but he spent time in juvie in his early teens for a fight that ended in an accidental serious injury. When he got out after a year he was sent to a different school, and he ended up in the same grade as Achilles. Pretty soon after, Patroclus was spending more nights at Achilles’ house than with the foster family he was placed with. 

Achilles had been the kid that everyone wanted to be friends with, even though he never made an effort with any of them. Or perhaps because of that. Patroclus was never popular; a kid with no money and a family that had abandoned him. Parents had told their children to watch out for him, but even if they hadn’t his classmates had still managed to somehow sense his circumstances and had given him a wide berth. Until Achilles, and then everyone wanted to know him. And some of them still did even once they realised it would never get them an in. 

Achilles wasn’t interested in knowing any of them. In the beginning it had concerned him, that Achilles shut people out and isolated himself. He’d worried aloud about it once, when they were laying side-by-side in Achilles’ bed. Peleus had put together a camp bed in Achilles’ room for Patroclus to sleep on, but Achilles had thrown it a scornful look when the door had closed and lifted his own covers for Patroclus to climb in with him instead. 

Achilles had turned his head to look at him, and Patroclus heard the swish of fabric as he shrugged. “I don’t need anyone else.” He said, and reached across blindly under the sheets to find the hand that Patroclus hadn’t even realised that he had left lying free for him. Patroclus had squeezed Achilles’ hand in response, and they’d barely been in their teens at the time but it had felt _right_.

********************

Achilles is an army brat through and through. His dad is a General, and he raised his son to keep to a strict timetable. Even now that they’re under their own roof and not his, Achilles is up at five every morning to run and do some strength work and eat the same, boring breakfast he does every day. Patroclus is glad that Achilles has a comforting structure to his days, but he’s also glad that he himself is a very heavy sleeper. When they were kids he’d tried his best to keep up wth Achilles, but now he’s older and wiser he knows it’s impossible.

Achilles’ mum has some job so high up in the UN that Achilles is not allowed to even say what it is, and he actually manages to keep that secret. All Patroclus knows is that she travels a lot. In all the years they’ve known each other, he’s met her about a handful of times. Achilles says his parents aren’t in love, but they know too many secrets about each other to ever divorce.

Achilles has always planned to follow in his dad’s footsteps. He adores his mother, but he has always favoured instant gratification. Achilles wants to protect people, to save them, and he had talked about enlisting straight after high school. But Patroclus had gone to university, and Achilles had followed. 

University hadn’t exactly been part of Patroclus’ life plan. As far as he had one, it was to stay with Achilles no matter what. Truthfully he had spent some time preparing himself to join the army. But as the time drew nearer all he could think of was Achilles dying in a war, and he panicked and enrolled in further schooling. Achilles had just shrugged and applied too. 

And maybe he is simply delaying the inevitable and maybe Achilles will still enlist when he graduates and Patroclus will be in line right behind him, but he has four years now to change his mind.

********************

Achilles and Agamemnon don’t get along. Agamemnon is the university’s track coach, and while Achilles is their star runner, they both know that he doesn’t need him. Achilles spends most of the time when he should be training sitting on the edge of the track on the grass with Patroclus. It makes Agamemnon furious but he can’t say anything, can’t send Patroclus away, because he knows Achilles will leave with him. Instead he fumes and pushes his runners maybe a little too hard and Patroclus is pretty sure he pulls some stings to get one of his classes put in the furthest room from the track that’s possible in the hopes that it would take him so long to get there that Achilles will have already started running when he does. 

What he doesn’t know is that while Patroclus may not compete himself, _someone_ had to run with Achilles when he was younger, and Patroclus is no slouch so it almost never works out. Except Patroclus is finishing up a group project and has to stay behind for half an hour to collect everyone’s notes, and he can see as soon as he steps around the corner and the track comes into sight that no one is running it. There’s a group of six standing off to one side and conspicuously facing away from the two on their own; Achilles and Agamemnon, who are shouting at each other loud enough that Patroclus can hear it, even if he can’t make out the words. He picks up his pace to an odd sort of half-jog.

“I will not compete for you!” He hears Achilles yell, even as he looks over Agamemnon’s shoulder and spots Patroclus. He starts to walk towards him, attempting to shoulder-check Agamemnon as he walks passed even though he only makes connection just above his elbow.

Agamemnon spins around to watch him go, his face a deep, angry red. “If you leave, you’re done here!” He shouts at his back. Patroclus watches the group of runners pretending not to notice what’s happening, and he can see it reflected on their faces that they know how empty a threat Agamemnon has made. Achilles doesn’t give him the dignity of acknowledging it even to himself, keeps his face perfectly blank as he grabs Patroclus’ hand and leads him away from the track. 

They’re back at their house before Achilles tells him what happened. Patroclus knows how Achilles can get; sullen and so _angry_ that can’t even speak properly, words tripping over each other. Never at Patroclus, but even so it’s better to wait it out. It takes a few minutes of Achilles curled up on the couch, knees pressed against his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, until he relaxes slowly, his grip loosening, his legs stretching out until his feet are on Patroclus’ lap and Patroclus has his hand on one of his ankles, his thumb rubbing in tiny circles. When he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the armrest, Achilles finally talks. “Agamemnon sent Briseis home.” Patroclus squeezes his ankle to let him know he’s listening. “He said she was _dressed inappropriately_.” 

Those last few words are almost spat out, and Patroclus gets it. He moves his hand higher and strokes from Achilles’ knee to his foot as he stews. Because Briseis has always had hangups about the way that she dresses. Her parents are extremely religious, and she had told him how for years she felt ashamed wearing shirts showing anything above or including her elbows. Even now he sometimes catches her tugging at the hems of her clothes, trying to get them lower; stealing his hoodies to hide any semblance of shape that she might have. Agamemnon couldn’t have possibly known, he just wanted her gone, but anger buzzes under Patroclus’ skin anyway.

He looks over at Achilles and sees his eyes are closed. Patroclus tickles under his knee and they fly open again, Achilles’ legs snapping back and off Patroclus lap to try and crush his fingers. He grins crookedly and Achilles glares back, his eyes still sleepy. Patroclus stands and then leans down, his arms on the couch cushion and armrest to bracket Achilles so he can kiss him on the forehead. “Go back to sleep, babe.” He says. “I’ll go talk to Briseis.” Achilles nods. and watches him leave with half-lidded eyes. 

********************

When Patroclus finds Briseis, she’s in the library. She’s wearing what he knows are her baggiest pants and one of Patroclus’ hoodies that he’d thought he had lost, but the hood is off and the sleeves are pushed up almost to her elbows, so he’s not as worried as he could be. Patroclus slips into the seat beside her. “Agamemnon is a dick” He says. “I’m sorry.”

Briseis hums in agreement. “And I’m sorry Achilles got in trouble. I’d apologise to him, but I know he won’t hear it. And besides.” She waves her hand in Patroclus’ general direction. “Apologising to you us basically the same as apologising to him, anyway.” Patroclus’ heart does a strange little flip at that. He and Achilles have been together since their teens, but he still gets a thrill out of knowing that other people can see how they feel about each other, how it’s still too much and too giddy for them to hide. “It’s not fair though.” Briseis continues. “Won’t it ruin things for Achilles? He could be in the Olympics or something.”

Patroclus smiles. “Probably.” He says. “But if he was going to, he’d have a better coach than Agamemnon.” Briseis smiles back. She doesn’t really know all that much about running techniques or the like, but she’s spent enough time sitting with Patroclus at the track to know that Agamemnon may as well not be there. “Besides, Apollo is trying out for the next Olympic team, and that means Achilles can’t, for they are destined never to meet on track or field or mat.”

Patroclus smirks at his own dumb joke, but Briseis mostly just looks confused. He forgets, sometimes, that most people don’t know what he’s thinking. Often, it feels like Achilles lives with him in his head, thinks about things the same way that he does, and it’s a shock when his other friends don’t follow his train of thought. It’s made even harder in this instance, because he and Briseis only met a year ago. “Achilles won every sporting event that was held at our high school.” Patroclus explains. Briseis rolls her eyes almost fondly. “And every time we would have to compete against other schools, someone would always say “sure he’s good, but he’s no Apollo.” But they never got to compete against each other.” 

“Why?” 

Patroclus shrugs. “Something always came up. One year, Achilles’ mum came home as a surprise and took him away to some island for two weeks. Another year there was a freak storm." Patroclus grins. “The last year, Apollo’s sister got into a fight with a couple of people just before the race, and he had to save them.”

“Them?” Briseis asks. “Not his sister?”

Patroclus huffs out a laugh. “You’ve clearly never met Artemis.”

********************

Somehow, Patroclus ends up with nine dogs. The first he gets as a gift when they move in together, Achilles practically vibrating in excitement before he swings the puppy around from where he was hiding her behind his back. The next four he finds abandoned in a box outside the supermarket at 3am when he’s out buying emergency study chocolate. Their eyes are barely open, and Patroclus brings them home and they feed them from a bottle until they’re old enough to be able to survive on their own, and by that time they can’t bare to give them away. The sixth he gets from a shelter because he hadn’t wanted to have an uneven number. Seven and eight are technically Peleus’ dogs. He leaves them with Achilles and Patroclus to dog-sit while he is overseas, and they just never get around to giving them back. 

They’re a real hassle to walk all at once, so Patroclus usually takes them out three at a time. They get plenty of exercise chasing each other around their back lawn anyway. But Achilles will take them all out at once for a run, chasing after and around him like he’s the pied piper of canines. The ninth one just follows him and his dog cloud home one day, and Achilles hadn’t even noticed. She doesn’t have a collar or even an ID chip so they just keep her.

When he’s not running, Achilles practices. He’s a music major, not content to simply be a star athlete. When they met, Achilles already played the lyre. He told him that his mum brought for his 10th birthday, bringing it home from overseas. Since then it has become somewhat of a tradition that Thetis buys her son a musical instrument from every country she goes to for her work, and Achilles can play every single one. But the lyre is still his favourite.

Sometimes it feels like every surface in their house that isn’t covered in dog hair is space for a musical instrument. Patroclus has an almost permanently stubbed toe from the number of times he’s slammed it into instrument cases, and he can’t wear black if he’s planning on going out to a public place. But when Achilles sprawls on the couch with his lyre on his lap and plucks out a tune, the dogs sing along and their neighbour glares at them from her window and through their own, and it’s perfect.

********************

Helen went home with Paris. It’s literally all anyone in their social circle can talk about. Helen went to the party with Menelaus, and she left it with Paris.

It’s no shock that Paris was involved. Paris is a skeeze. A beautiful skeeze, Patroclus will admit, but a skeeze nonetheless. But Helen is a surprise. Helen and Menelaus have been together as long as Patroclus has known them; since high school, possibly even before that. Everyone had just assumed that after university they would settle down together and have a few kids. The perfect little high school sweethearts nuclear family. And maybe Helen had been drunk when she went home with Paris. That’s what the whispers are saying. But maybe, she just didn’t want the life that everyone had laid out for her.

Maybe Patroclus is projecting, he doesn’t know. He and Achilles hadn’t gone to the party, they can’t say what state anyone involved was in. But either way, Menelaus is pissed, and Menelaus and Achilles are on the same wrestling team, so they end up roped into the group he’s gathered to confront Paris.

Instead, they only find Hector. Hector is Paris’ eldest brother, and captain of the school’s boxing team. He has muscles on muscles, and Patroclus is glad he and Achilles agreed to only come along as moral support, because he does not want to get into a fight with Hector. Truthfully, _Achilles_ agreed to come along for moral support, and Patroclus just goes wherever he does. Achilles was clear that his vow not to compete for Agamemnon extends not fighting for his brother, but his presence alone does boost morale and Menelaus had asked him to still come. And Achilles has always enthusiastically embraced the bonding aspect of team sports. Plus, Patroclus had heard that Paris was bragging about “conquering” Helen, so they do have some righteous anger on their side. 

So they stand together at the back of the group, Achilles with his arms crossed and Patroclus with one eye on him and the other on Menelaus arguing with Hector. He’s just thinking that the whole scene is almost pulsing with the potential to turn into a physical confrontation, when Menelaus throws himself forward, straight into Hector and then through him to the group of people standing around him, his arms flailing. And then it’s on, both sides jumping into a fight that they had been silently psyching themselves up for, muscles tightening and relaxing to warm them up in preparation. 

Patroclus tries to detach from the scene in front of him; one boy falls to the ground with a clearly broken nose, another is shoved violently out of the crowd of people and shakes his head to clear it before tackling another boy into a third. It’s easy for Achilles to watch and not care. As far as Patroclus can tell, about 85% of what they do at martial arts meets is just watch other people get hurt. But even as he sees someone else fall out of the fighting group and this time shuffle off towards the university buildings clutching his wrist, Patroclus knows he can’t just stand there. 

He turns a little to face Achilles. “I’m going in.”

Achilles looks at him and smiles softly, taking his head between his hands. “Don’t break that pretty face of yours.” He says, and pulls him closer, kisses the end of his nose. Patroclus rolls his eyes and spins around so he can’t see his blush. Achilles taps him on the butt as he walks into the fray.

Patroclus hasn’t been in a fight since juvie, but it’s easy to adjust to the rhythm; dodging and weaving and getting in one or two good shoves. It’s like riding a bike, except peddling in this case is not wanting to get punched. He’s doing pretty well if he does say so himself, until suddenly he finds himself face-to-face with Hector. Hector has what looks like will soon develop into an impressive black eye, but other than that the only part of him that is marked is his hands. Patroclus closes his eyes briefly and curses.

“We don’t have to do this.” He says.

Hector shrugs “Your man was the one who started it.”

“Technically, your brother started it.” Patroclus replies, and Hector shrugs again, a tiny lift of one shoulder while his mouth screws up to the same side. “You could just let Menelaus punch him in the face.”

“No, I can’t.” Hector says. “He’s my brother.”

“He did say some nasty things about Helen.”

Hector grimaces. “Yeah, I know. And I won’t let him get away with it.” He shifts a little, settles his weight into his hips, and Patroclus knows he’s not getting out of this with his words. He tries to find his own fighting stance. “But would you let someone punch Achilles in the face just because he said something dumb when his feelings were hurt?”

Patroclus has a brief moment to think that no, he probably wouldn’t. He’d be furious, he’d absolutely demand that he apologise, but he’d still stand between him and a fist. And then everything happens very quickly. One moment he’s standing opposite Hector and thinking about how he can minimise damage to his person, and then the next Hector is stepping forward and giving him what he thinks is supposed to be a gentle push out of the fight. But Patroclus isn’t concentrating on the right things. The push tips him off balance, and he falls. And he hears a sickening _crack_. And there’s a flash of white-hot pain that starts at his ankle and shoots up his leg and higher and higher until his vision bright and over-exposed before it tunnels into a peaceful, numbing black. 

When Patroclus comes to, everyone has stopped fighting. But no one is looking at him. They’re all facing something that he cannot see from flat on his back, but he _can_ see their faces; horrified, scared, thrilled, sick, even _turned on_ for one or two. Patroclus forces himself up onto his elbows to see the commotion.

Achilles is straddling Hector’s chest; his hands bloodied, Hector’s face bloodied, _far_ too much blood for comfort and Achilles isn’t stopping and Hector _isn’t_ moving.

Patroclus tries to call out, his voice weak. It’s little more than a croak, and Achilles continues like a man possessed. He tries again. “Achilles.” He manages, barely louder than his speaking voice, but Achilles stops and twists his body around to look at him. Achilles’ face is terrifyingly blank, but his _eyes_ , they shine like they’re on fire. “Take me to a hospital.” Achilles is back on his feet and scooping Patroclus up in an instant. “And call an ambulance.” For a few, heart-stopping seconds, it looks as though Achilles is going to refuse. He walks, carrying Patroclus, and says nothing. And then Patroclus feels a hand rummaging around in his back pocket where he keeps his phone, and Achilles is passing it to him awkwardly. 

Patroclus dials emergency services, and tries to imagine where he and Achilles will go from here.

********************

Somehow, Achilles escapes both expulsion and an assault charge. The benefits of being a star athlete and having friends and _parents_ in high places, Patroclus supposes. It’s disgraceful, to be honest, but it is what it is and in the end Achilles needs only to agree to attend anger management counselling to escape any punishment. 

What he does not escape is Paris taking a golf club to his car. Every window was smashed, along with the side view mirrors and the plastic accents on the grill. He also left three large dents in the bonnet. Achilles tells him that it almost looks like Paris had paid someone to do it, he managed so much destruction. Except that he had scratched his own name across the right side doors with his keys. 

Patroclus expects to hear the Achilles has landed Paris in the same hospital that he put his brother, five doors down from Patroclus’ own room. And Achilles tells him that he had been planning to do just that when their father had knocked on the front door. Prium has the same build as his sons, tall and broad and not diminished physically by age. But even so, Achilles says he looks nothing like them; there is no confidence in the way he holds himself, shoulders curled inwards and staring just past Achilles’ face when he addresses him. 

Prium tells him how hard it has been since his wife died, How badly their kids had taken it, particularly Paris. How hard it has been for him to be there for them in the way they need him to be. How he’s so _sorry_ and he doesn’t know what he’s doing and if Achilles could _please let it go_.

Achilles tells him that Prium had cried on their doorstep, and how he had invited him into their home and made him tea and cried with him because Achilles may not understand Prium’s situation, but he _does_ understand being afraid for someone.

And Patroclus squeezes Achilles’ hand and looks into his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief.

********************

Brises meets them at the hospital when Patroclus is being checked out. They're stuck waiting for almost two hours - Achilles on one side with his head resting on Patroclus shoulder as he fights a losing battle with a nap, and Brises on the other her eyes darting angrily about the discharge room. Patroclus shares her frustration. He doesn’t actually need medication, so why is he waiting around while a nurse explains prescriptions to seemingly everyone in the room but him. 

He’s about to jiggle his shoulder to wake Achilles and get him to flirt with the receptionist to get them out quicker when a new nurse walks in to take over the shift, and even though it’s been years since he last saw her, Patroclus recognises Deidamia. He gives Achilles a nudge, and he shoots awake and up onto his feet just as the receptionist calls Patroclus’ name. Across the room, Deidamia looks around in surprise and spots them; Achilles blinking slowly into the middle distance, and Patroclus raising his hand and jerking it to the side in a little salute-wave. Deidamia smiles and waves back. Patroclus elbows Achilles again, in the leg this time, and points out Deidamia when he looks at him. Achilles beams at her and waves enthusiastically, and she winks in return. They don’t have time to chat - her at work, and them just desperately wanting to leave the hospital - but she mimes “call me” as they trundle towards the receptionist, Patroclus struggling with his crutches, and Achilles gives her a thumbs up. 

Brieses waits until they’re outside before she comments. “I think that nurse was hitting on you.”

Patroclus makes an amused noise at the back of his throat. “Nah. Deidamia knows we’re not exactly available.” Walking on the other side of Patroclus, one side of Achilles’ mouth twitches up.

“Oh. How do you guys know her?”

“We have a kid.” Achilles says, bright and breezy. 

Briesis stumbles and accidentally kicks one of Patroclus’ crutches. Achilles catches him effortlessly around the waist. “What!?” Briesis screeches. 

Patroclus rolls his eyes and pushes against Achilles’ chest to stand up straight. “It was a Tamagotchi.” He says. He chances a look over at Achilles, who’s grin says he’s incredibly proud of himself. “We went to high school with Deidamia, and her family lived down the same street as Achilles. They were walking home together one day when they found a Tamagotchi in the grass next to the footpath, and when they couldn’t decide who should get to keep it they decided to raise it together.”

Briesis stares at his face and blinks a couple of times in confusion, before she bursts into laughter. “Thank God.” She says through her giggles. “I was having an existential crisis thinking there wasn’t a time you two were being gross about each other.” Achilles reaches around Patroclus’ neck to pull him closer and plant and exaggerated kiss on his cheek. Patroclus beams at Briesis in a way that is somehow both too wide to be anything but performative, and utterly sincere. Briesis pretends to gag. “Yeah, I didn’t think you were into girls.” 

Achilles lets go of Patroclus to free up his arms to shrug. “I am.” He says, and Briesis stops this time instead of stumbling. “Theoretically, I suppose. I’ve only ever really been interested in Patroclus.” 

Patroclus feels his face do something _weird_ at that, all of his features kind of scrunching up even as he tries to nod to say “same”, and he can’t hold Achilles hand and walk right now so he knocks his leg affectionately with one of his crutches. He knows how Achilles feels about him, he really does, but it’s still nice to hear him say it so casually in front of other people. 

Breisis watches them walk on in front of her, and shakes her head fondly. 

*******************

Patroclus lost far more fitness than he expected while his ankle was broken. He never really did all that much exercise anyway, at least when he compared himself to Achilles. But walking the dogs hand clearly been doing something for him, because the first time he takes them out after getting the all clear on his ankle Patroclus finds himself getting a little short of breath on his way home with the last group. 

Achilles takes it upon himself to get him back into running shape. He says it’s for health reasons, but honestly Patroclus thinks Achilles just likes piggy backs and he doesn’t want Patroclus to be overworking himself to do it. 

Achilles takes him to the school running track. He hasn’t been back since his argument with Agamemnon, and Achilles agreeing to join Menelaus in a fight had done little to nothing in softening them towards each other. But Patroclus needs a flat track to train on, and the university is happy to let Achilles use it after hours if they think it will inspire him to compete for them again. 

He also brings their dogs; which really defeats the purpose of finding a safe track, if they’re out there running under his feet and sometimes just straight into his legs. 

Achilles starts each session jogging by his side, but as time passes he seems to find himself overtaken by the sensation of running, and he gradually speeds up until he’s doing short 200 metre sprints and then waiting for Patroclus to catch up.

Patroclus watches him dash ahead, and his heart squeezes just a little. Sometimes it feels like Achilles is always destined to run away from him, like Achilles is so bright and quick; the sun in the sky, just spinning around, untouchable. And Patroclus can’t keep up, even when he pushes himself to his absolute limits. 

Sometimes he watches Achilles run and he’s sure that one day he’s going to realise that he’s too good for all of them, and he’s going to run and run and never stop.

But Achilles does stop. Every time. Stops and catches Patroclus’ hand for a brief moment when he catches up, gives it a squeeze or brushes his lips against his knuckles, whispers encouragements and flatteries that are for Patroclus alone. And it shouldn’t work as well as it does; Achilles should hit himself in the face with Patroclus’ hand one or twice, grab nothing but thin air, struggle to get his encouragement out through huffed breathing. But Achilles makes the impossible possible. 

********************

It’s not just Achilles’ looks that turn heads, it’s who he is; the son of a General, a star athlete, a good musician if you go to the pub a block down from the university on the first Wednesday of every month. Sometimes when they’re walking together through the campus, Patroclus will hear people whispering about him, furtive glances that are made more obvious by the clear effort they’re taking to hide them. 

This time it’s a group of six outside the mathematics building. Not exactly a place that they have been known to frequent. “Everyone says he’s the fastest person they know.” One whispers rather loudly to the rest, and Patroclus slips away from Achilles side and sidles up to them.

He coughs loudly, and six heads swivel around to look at him. “Not at _everything_.” He says, with a slow, exaggerated wink. The group seem too surprised to know how to respond to that, and for a few seconds they just stare at him blankly, maybe a little uncomfortable. Then some small smiles start to blossom on a few faces and Patroclus thinks they’ve finally got it, until hands settle on his hips and he feels Achilles twist around from behind him and mash his cheek up against Patroclus’ shoulder. 

He tilts his head across and down and sees Achilles looking up at him, with his face upturned and his eyelashes fluttering despite the way his cheek pressing against Patroclus is making one of his eyes squint. “That’s right, babe.” Achilles says in a voice that is clearly meant to make a mockery of what passes for a seductive voice in professional media. Patroclus tries not to be embarrassed by the way his breath catches in his throat. “Tell them how we make sweet, sweet love.”

Patroclus has been trying to embarrass Achilles basically since the day he met him, but somehow he always ends up the one sweating. He shakes a little and Achilles’ hands fall loose with a laugh. Around them the group has started to chuckle too, more smiles blooming on faces and honestly, Patroclus can see where some people get the idea that he and Achilles aren’t actually together, that they’re just boys who are acting up or overcompensating for something. But he turns around and grabs Achilles’ face between his hands, tilts it so he can press a soft kiss to his lips, and when he pulls back to the stunned silence behind him Achilles is wearing the faint dustings of a blush and a goofy half-grin, and there is nothing platonic about that look.

“That’s how.” Patroclus says, barely above a whisper, and Achilles pushes himself up onto his toes and winds his arms around Patroclus’ neck. The rest of the world falls away.


End file.
